Memories are like little pockets of joy forever on the waiting list to be plucked up and embraced. Ever since the beginning of man, we have told stories of our past. Legends, fables, histories--we find satisfaction in recounting what has been and what it means for what will be.
In my pockets, I have a handful of memories I hold close to my heart. They are the kind that make a smile flash across my face in an instant of remembering. Summertime always brings these snippets of time forward, and I'm often plunged back into time where I'm floating on my giraffe floaty in Cultis Lake, or camping in the backyard with Holly while we turn our ordinary yellow tent into a fortress fit for a queen. A whiff of sunscreen (it has to be the right one, mind you), and I'm sent reeling back to Cannon Beach with Kapri, my best friend. Memories are not only fun accounts of the past, but they are times to remind us of from where we've come. Always moving forward, memories keep us grounded in the whys and the whos. Why did we make that decision? Who was there when we went through that?
I don't really have a point to my ramblings today, but I found myself overwhelmed with memories this morning. On my drive in to work today, I was really sitting in the car, parked at the Cove, visiting with my mom about teenage girl stuff. Because you see, it's those memories that have made me exactly who I am today. They are my pockets of joy.
No comments:
Post a Comment